


Soft Rains

by LittleLark



Series: An Exercise In Pining [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-12
Updated: 2019-02-12
Packaged: 2019-10-26 22:09:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17754392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleLark/pseuds/LittleLark
Summary: Two days ago, Bucky had turned up still in his work clothes, boots undone and hands still laced in grime, but holding what looked like every spare blanket he could carry. He’d sat with Steve until dawn, when Sarah had returned from the night shift, and stayed a little more after that.





	Soft Rains

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by:
> 
> There Will Come Soft Rains  
> Sara Teasdale
> 
> There will come soft rains and the smell of the ground,  
> And swallows circling with their shimmering sound;
> 
> And frogs in the pools singing at night,  
> And wild plum trees in tremulous white,
> 
> Robins will wear their feathery fire  
> Whistling their whims on a low fence-wire;
> 
> And not one will know of the war, not one  
> Will care at last when it is done.
> 
> Not one would mind, neither bird nor tree  
> If mankind perished utterly;
> 
> And Spring herself, when she woke at dawn,  
> Would scarcely know that we were gone.

Sarah barely glances up at a key scratching in the lock. Light spills in from the hallway, reaching in towards the foot of the bed before the door clicks shut again.

The open door has let out what little heat she’s managed to save, the chill bites at her bare ankles. It must be close to snowing. 

Bucky sets a paper bag upon the kitchen table. 

“I brought dinner,’ he says by way of greeting. He moves quietly, shoes clicking on the tiles, and shoves his hands into the pockets of his slacks.

Sarah spares him a drained smile as she thanks him, dipping a rag into a bowl at her feet. Bucky watches as the water drip down her wrist and over her arm to soak the sleeve. He watches as she holds the rag to Steve’s temple, his face drawn and pale as the sheet breath him, hair slicked back with tepid water or sweat, Bucky isn’t sure. He’s steadfast in the belief that Steve’s lost yet more weight, more than he can stand lose, drowning in blankets that pool at his waist. Bucky sees the sheen of sweat from across the room, catching the light with each rasping breath. 

As Bucky steps closer, Sarah pulls her attention from her son. The flush from the cold makes Bucky’d face seem younger, somehow, and she means to reassure him, or tell him to go home to his Ma and not risk getting whatever Steve’s caught this time, but there’d be little point. Two days ago, Bucky had turned up still in his work clothes, boots undone and hands still laced in grime, but holding what looked like every spare blanket he could carry. He’d sat with Steve until dawn, when Sarah had returned from the night shift, and stayed a little more after that. 

Steve had protested then he didn’t need coddling, flinging a weak hand at Bucky’s chest to ward off the bowl of broth he held, but there are no protests tonight. Steve’s been drifting for hours, caught between exhaustion and fever dreams. 

“You should get something to eat,” Bucky whispers. 

Sarah just shakes her head. 

“I should be at the hospital, I’ll get something there.” She doesn’t mention how Steve needs the food more, or how Steve needs a warm home and medicine she can’t afford, or fresh air, or maybe just a new set of lungs. 

Bucky smiles, says, “Then I’ll still be right here when you get back,” and flops gently down to the foot of the bed. He spares her the audience as she presses her fingers under her eyes and pins her hair back, and he picks up the dog-eared book she’d been reading Steve instead. The pages open to a poem he’s not read before but he starts up quietly as Sarah places a gentle hand to Steve’s forehead on her way out. He keeps reading aloud into the quiet when the beginnings of daylight stretch in, head pillowed against Steve’s calf, until his voice goes hoarse and the pages turn blank, and moves on to the make-believe stories they would tell as kids, of heroes and detectives and grand adventures.

And James Barnes being James Barnes, always got the girl, of course.

A whisper, quiet enough that Bucky hesitates for a moment, before Steve’s legs shift beneath the covers.

“Jerk. Always get the girl but I’d settle for just one,”

Bucky looks up and tosses the book in Steve’s direction. “Sorry pal, that must be the next tale.”

“Well get to it, then,” Steve cracks an eye open and smiles, though its thin and a little empty. 

“Sure you wouldn’t prefer a lullaby?”

“The neighbors will complain.”

Bucky laughs, thinking that Steve’s probably right, and wriggles around so he can put his legs beneath the blankets. He shivers as Steve pushes his toes against Bucky’s ankle, ice cold even through thick socks, and then he listens to the faint rattle deep in Steve’s chest, and he thinks of the money he’s kept for a rainy day, and how the rain will have to wait another month.


End file.
